Admiration of Redemption
by Kalen Bloodstone
Summary: COMPLETE... Series: History of the Elf Prince Tãlan. Who led the Elves across the Sea? What led until then? Only time will tell. Pretense of Inheritance Cycle. - Rated: T, Writer of Artemis F./Inheritance Cycle/Kate Daniels fandoms
1. Beginnings

This story will show you why the Elves went across the Sea, to Eragon's homeland. Set back about 5,000 years, that's when I think it would've started.

Please Review at the end, or at the beginning, but is just wouldn't give me justice to get a Review with you not even reading it. What are you waiting for fools, READ!

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_Beginnings . . ._

Tãlan gazed across the Battlefield, gazing briefly at the gored and maimed bodies, wondering who had the audacity and power to do something so . . . bewildering. The Elven world was a force of which Alagaësia hadn't seen for millennia, and here laid a wild chunk of their Elite force of Ranger's called the Cartah, mangled and maimed, drowning in their own blood of crimson red.

Tãlan drew his slender blade, eldrvarya-orúm, meaning burning serpent. It represented the deepest hue of green, and when reflected, black was intoned into its shiny surface. Closely resembling that of a serpent's skin. Shined and slippery, it slid out of its sheath, barely making a sound in its well oiled sheath. Lightning fast, it was in Tãlan's hand, more for the familiarity of the firm grip of which he held the handle then for protection. He made a quick assumption, even without the scouts reports he could tell the outcome was massive. The Cartah, fifty of the mounted Elven archers, had set out to aid a fellow Fiefdom of the Arovian Empire in need to ward of an army of Ghroths, the feathered black swan looking creature of which up close looked like men, only winged, taller, and more dangerous. The Lord Baron of the fief, Oro, had a few hundred assorted Cavalry and footmen, plus their ill trained crossbowmen, they stood no chance, they faced utter obliteration. But with the help of only fifty Cartah, they would desecrate the opposing force with the hyper intensity only Elven archers possessed. Well trained archers alone would've most likely beaten a good sized Ghroth, but with half a thousand rushing into their mist, confusion was soon to follow, something Elves knew how to deal with.

Turning the summery of the report in his head he had gained from one of Oro's men, Tãlan looked over the field again, only pale faces, smeared with mud looked back at him.

Even stranger, the ground was scorched, and an obvious forest fire had occurred, something Elves despised.

Coming to a conclusion, Tãlan dismounted, followed by his right-hand-elf, Adurna, wearing a forest green tunic and breeches, wielding his bow of yew wood. Swan fletched arrow's, snuggled into its quiver, splotches of darker contrast stood out at random. A line was painted around the shaft of the arrow, red, to mark it as his own.

"Do I . . . Do you want me to assess the damage, Prince Tãlan?"

"You insult my intelligence, Adurna, oh Friend. I don't need to assess it, its all there for me to see, right in front of me."

Adurna nodded, knowing it was the glummest statement he'd ever heard out of his charge. Looking back at his scouting party, summed up at twenty Elves, ten archers as well as ten of the melee verity, not that the archers couldn't handle a blade, as likewise would be said for his melee clad Elven comrades.

The twenty Elves was more then enough for a vanguard, guarding his Royal Highness, Prince Tãlan, direct descendant of Beorn the Edoc'sil, or unconquerable, and Draumr the Hljödhr, or the silent. It was just as you thought, he was unconquerable, and she was the silent one who told him what to do and at what time.

Walking across the field, Tãlan came to a griming halt, arrows whizzed past his head. Barely ducking, Tãlan slid the shield from his back to his left forearm, eldrvarya-orúm already in hand.

"_Garjzla,_" He yelled, power bearing forth from his hand. Light surged upon the enemy, Groths, wielding bows and pikes. And blinding them, Tãlan quickly led his Elves to victory. Forming them all to the center of the Valley, he yelled out a command, almost out of instinct, this was naturally for an Elven Prince by far.

The archers, quickly dispatched four volleys of arrows in rapid succession, followed by half a dozen spells. The outcome was devious, if Tãlan's estimations were correct, which he'd eat his quiver if they weren't, an odd thirty Groths came to meet the other end of those arrows. In all, Tãlan could see some odd seventy Groths, and soon it was fifty, and then ten, and then zero.

Charged with adrenalin, he spat upon a few faces, of the Groths, and decided upon what had he knew subconsciously. Oro's fiefdom must've been overrun with the Groths, their fiefdom turned into an empty pit of suffering, enslaved by the Groths was not a way a person should ever have to die, and was not what one even wished upon an enemy.

His vanguard was mostly unharmed, with the exception of one elf's open wound, breathing into the world the fowl stench of death.

Tãlan had just wiped his blade clean, on one of the Groths pants, and had sheathed it, when he heard a mighty rumbling from behind.

Facing the barren forest, he was shocked to see what appeared through the mighty, odd angles branching out; Dragons.

Scales of magnificent color, mixed like a rainbow, flooded out of the forest, some big, some tiny as a cat. But there was one thing most of them shared, Fire. It spewed forth, and their miraculous talons shone brightly against the sun. Some had flown, if they hadn't arrived that way, that is.

Attack was obvious and fast, not to mention the vast devastation that soon followed. Showered in arrows, fired almost lightning fast, the Dragons became irritated, and drawing claws to full extent, shrouded the Elves.

Tãlan, faced with imminent death, shred a final prayer, to Mother nature, for helping his elves so far. And with that, he left his men, uttering the magic word for wind and air,_ vindr_. Compressing his body, the magic quickly turned him into wind, and was directed due south.

The next moment, he materialized on the hill, overseeing the event, and uttered one last spell to helps his friends live, "_Skölir nosu fra brisingr_," shield us from fire. And then whisked himself away, to his Castle to bare the foreboding news of his vanguards death, as well as the return of the Dragons.

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Gazing through the Palace window, Tãlan saw for the millionth time the Kingdom he'd one day inherit, a thought very heart warming.

Tãlan didn't even want to assume his guards survival, as long as he lived he wouldn't forget the day previous by far, and knew he shouldn't hope for the best, he'd only be greatly disappointed.

Tãlan was still dressed in his nightshirt and pants, not bothering to change.

He had lived most of his life with those Elves, most of them great champions of the Kingdom, wasted away by creatures that where long dead.

His Council meeting with his parents was any minute, and yet, Tãlan just stood there, doing absolutely nothing. He thought he might need to dress proper for the Council, but just didn't have the desire to do more then look outside of his window.

Tãlan heard his door open, yet didn't look to see who'd entered, still mesmerized.

A chin, rested upon his shoulder, and then a pair of arms materialized around his waist. Turning his head, slowly, Tãlan's demeanor rushed away to be replaced with a new one. The face looking back at his was none other then his future wife and Queen, Reona.

"Reona darling, how long has it been?"

"I don't remember seeing you for almost a year . . ."

And with that statement, Tãlan kissed his darling, and taking her hand in his, lead her to the door.

Her face showed little emotion, she wasn't named Reona for nothing.

"Please understand, later-"

Reona cut in.

"Don't forget where my Mother gained my name from, I never show it as otherwise. I can tell you want time to yourself, and you may have it, Tãlan." And with that, Reona stormed out.

Speechless, at her reaction, Tãlan came out of his current dilemma, the shock was enough, and walking over to his wardrobe, picked something his parents who'd greatly approve upon. A flowing white silken jerkin, accented with green embroidered patterns at the hem of the sleeves and the neckline, and earthy colored breeches. His blade, a hand-and-a-half sword, crafted from the finest Elven ore, as well as their most respected smithy, was a respected blade as well as decorated weaponry. He slung its back sheath on, and reaching for the sword, sheathed it, in one fluent motion.

Going to his wash basin, he poured water into it, and reaching for a cloth, dropped his face in the bowl, refreshment followed quickly. And with that, Tãlan exited his room.

. . . Seated at his mother's side, who was at his father's side, Tãlan sat there, waiting for the long lists of reports detailing shipments of grain and oil, and the monthly farming reports. And don't even get Tãlan started on the weaponry reports.

And yet, it turned out Tãlan was the first up. Standing, running his hands over his jerkin, smoothing it out, he started his grim report. All through the event, he never once saw more then a few sad smiles.

"My report, I'm reporting it here, I never want to recollect this again . . ."

And seeing the scribe had started, he continued.

"Dragons, my friends, their back, they've returned. They slayed fifty Cartah for no reason known to me."He had this in the back of his mind the whole time, yet it surfaced now.

"My guards, and I, left three weeks ago, heading to conference with Lord Baron, Oro, to discern the protection of his fiefdom. We all know his fief is a great protection to our own Kingdom. It rests on our northern tier, which faces the coastline, a Pirate trouble area." Reaching for his cup of nectar, more of a juice really, Tãlan took a good sip to cool his nerves. He never got used to talking to crowds, and this was only a Council, elves who knew him for years.

"Arriving at the settlement Reona, named for my future wife, we stayed the week, to provide muscle and support of the elves stationed within. You all know the importance of this. Running into only one band of Bandits, fools, we led on, arriving in the Valley Dru'te, we found fifty bodies. Each were maimed and gored, and looking closer, their Elven ancestry was obvious. Our fifty Cartah, had somehow been taken out, only miles from Oro's fief. Observing the surrounding's, we noticed a forest fire, and greatly despised it, as would you all." Seeing the look of disgust on their face proved his words.

"That's when the first raid came, Groths, an odd 1twenty came rushing over the hill to the north, as we came from a western/northern heading. The battle was over, in minutes, and the only casualty, was Jrean, a side wound. And right after that, was when the Dragons came, rushing through the burnt forest. Flooding our elves, who only had enough time to lease a few volleys, I sped to the overlooking hill, and cast one last spell which would protect them from burning."

The tremendous outcome was now in their laps, and they now had to plan whatever they seamed fit.

"I take my leave . . ." And with that, Tãlan left the Chamber, to find his girlfriend, a pissed off Elf named Reona, which literally translated into Reaper.

He knew where he'd look, where she always went when she was pissed, the training grounds.

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Now you've read, now REVIEW . . . or Else . . . Oh I'm not good at threatening my reader's, I appreciate their reviews too much.

All Disclaimers may be found on my profile.

Notice: It will take longer then I thought to update, Elven History I guess takes awhile to write. Never fear, it'll come.

You like Artemis Fowl? Well, want to know what happens when Spiro breaks loose from Prison? Find out with my already 7 Chapter FanFic, check it out. (I think this makes me sound like a overpowered happy person, I'm blaming the book I read yesterday)

~ Kalen Bloodstone ~


	2. An Elven Duel

Hope you like it, Review at the end.

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_An Elven Duel . . ._

Arriving at the arena, Tãlan saw her, her slender twin blades flashing through the air, with almost un-elven swiftness. He stood there, enjoying the view, waiting for her to finish.

After her fourth combat venture, wherein she fought four elves, dancing through their mists, parrying, blocking, and just generally reaping the other Elves, she caught sight of him, and in a huff, stormed his way.

"To arms!" she yelled, and without waiting, advanced.

Drawing eldrvarya-orúm, Tãlan went into an intense duel, starting with a slash to the ribs. Then after a parry, swiped at her legs. Reona easily sidestepped, dancing her favorite dance, and lounged, point first, jumping most of the distance between them. Used to her unpredictable moves, and ready to change course within milliseconds, as well as well trained instincts, Tãlan jumped up, and resting his feet onto her shoulder's, bushed hard on an angle, tipping forward. She stumbled forward. Her blades thrown to the side, but instead of stopping and admitting defeat, she drew her dagger's, sleek weapons of death.

Swiping forward, she kicked Tãlan in the calf, and then the pommel of the daggers drove down on his shoulder's, driving him down on his knees. And then her dagger's, stylishly in a diagonally slant, representing a V, rested upon his neck, her sweat pouring off her face.

"Well, you lasted longer then the last batch- well done."

Something Tãlan had not expected from her.

"Thanks." He muttered.

And it wasn't that he was embarrassed, that she had beaten him, she'd done it multiple times, still though, it was different being the center of attention on the training grounds.

Her golden locks, drenched, coated her neck, her eyebrows and lashes coated with dew like substance, with small droplets ranging around her neck and arms.

Reona wore a jerkin, like Tãlan, but hers was strapped onto her upper body. She wore breeches as well, she hardly wore a dress- but when she did, the result was . . . miraculous.

He had a sudden urge to kiss her, and acted upon it, his mouth locking with her own. Yet it got no farther, she started to talk.

"Alright, you're forgiven. You've given me enough of a breather and challenge. Now, you fume off, I'll listen."

For once, Tãlan thought that he actually wanted to talk, and with a subject like this, it was definitely a strange outcome. He opened up, as they walked to the garden owned by the King and Queen, where they could talk in private. The flowers were in full bloom, a wondrous site, Reona and the garden combined.

Tãlan, reached for one of the two apples inside of his pocket, and after tossing one to Reona, took the other and took a wild bite out of it. Then continued speaking.

He couldn't be certain how long he talked, all he knew was a burden was almost instantly taken off his shoulder's. So this is how marriage felt, letting you're whole heart open to the other, doing foolish things with them, and most of all the feeling of trust.

"Well, that's definitely huge. So why do you think the Cartah where killed by the Dragons?" Reona asked.

"Because of the burnt, ashy marks that used to be grass and other plants. Then it was a small hint at the back of my mind. It really just spewed forth at the Council." Tãlan replied to the inquiry.

"Alright . . . and yet, through the old stories, we know that they are extremely territorial. Could it be that they where just intruded upon?"

"No." Tãlan said, shaking his head. "Why are you trying to stand up for them? They are animals, yes, but they still killed Elves."

"And would you blame the wild boar who gutted Mur'trans for his whole race? Would you?" Reona asked, devilishly.

"I suppose I wouldn't, but Dragons are much, much bigger then a boar. They destroy Villages and maim people. The most a boar ever did was-"

"Destroy the hopes of children, who can't run out and play in the forest, their mother. They can't play until the Village Chiefs assign warriors to take down the boars, and then they have to track them. The Children go through a whole week without play, they're tired of being cooped up. They leave the Village, and run into the boars, three of them. The Children, arm themselves with inadequate weapons, and cries of help are heard. The Warrior's come, yet they are too late. The head of the hunt arrives right as the last boar drives his massive tusks into the last child's chest. Now, how is that any different then the Dragons?" A true debater, Reona rushed the words, as for me to have no say in the matter, and was probably the only elf who had the courage to bring up that statement, so glum.

"Now that you mention it," started Tãlan glumly, "I suppose not much of a difference. Please don't bring up a debate like that again. I'd hate to have to hear the cries of pain from the crowds." He said, in a slight comedic tone.

"Now, will you join me in another duel? I think you've lost your touch?" Reona challenged.

"I'll take you any day, as long as you don't include this morning . . ." Tãlan boasted, as he followed her out of the garden and to the training grounds.

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The ground was still moist from the morning dew, and stormy clouds fashioned themselves through the day, impressing the grimness. A flag, black background with golden embroideries, represented the day of a burial.

A crowd, maxing out at least around 80 elves, stood there, the grimness settling into their bones. They knew it wasn't long till the Council would debate upon the next move.

Tãlan was there as well, along with Reona, both in mourning dress. He had been asked to give a speech, but responded with a sad look and a few words mainly meaning _no, _in a nicely spoken sentence.

It went fast, sadly enough, but there was the bad luck that could soon follow.

The bodies where never found, and therefore each Elf was given a plaque, with their name and rank. After all the plaques had been drilled into the wall, a magic scripting, strewn from the hands of the Elf leading the ceremony, covering the wall.

_Here lye the names of the strong, Elven Warriors who sacrificed their lives guarding Prince Tãlan. They will be Revenged, in some way. May the Great Mother welcome them into here willowy halls with grace and splendor, and may the Otherworld be less cruel and less testing then this world. _Written in the Ancient Language, the "Revenge" part was binding, but knowing his parents, Tãlan doubted they would hesitate upon action.

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Gazing upon his Mother's grievous face, Tãlan shed a mental tear, for no apparent reason. He knew his mother was emotional one, and a Prophecy seer, that's why she'd been named Draumr, which meant dreamer.

"What's the problem, Mother?" Tãlan questioned her.

She only replied with a dangerous look resting upon her face.

Thinking she might've been in a mesmerizing shock, which often followed her visions, Tãlan left her to find his Father.

Finding him busy with his Council members, or rather being told by his assistant, a plumb, gray haired lady named Eron'yilsna, Tãlan pondered what next to do.

He thought of tracking down Reona, even if it was easy to find her, and Tãlan was quite found of the idea. But he re-decided, but yet still was stumped on what to do. He could visit the gardens, talk with the Kingdom's mountainous population, or find an old Teacher to pick brains with, yet he still didn't know what to do. Deciding on meditating while he thought of this, it would come to him eventually, Tãlan sat down upon a stump, overlooking the lake, frothed at the edges and shimmering with glory.

Something, or rather someone, drilled through his meditating mind.

"Tãlan, come now man, awaken!" it shouted, and slipping his mind around it, recollected the voice from an old friend.

"Hello, Rauthr, haven't seen you for awhile."

"It has been rather long hasn't it, well give it no mind, lets talk now." And with that, the dark haired elf sat down on the grass, by Tãlan.

He wore all white, a white ivory hilted handle could be seen, popping out from his belt. He was shrouded in a cape and cowl, and defined muscles bulged from under his tunic.

"Heard about your Elves, shame, friend. Adurna was a friend to everyone. He'll be missed. Talked to Iana, she didn't want to speak on the subject. Never saw a sadder day then the Funeral service for all of them." Rauthr always rushed his sentences, as well as changed topics abruptly.

"Aye, it was. At least Jrean's wife sculpted a statuette. That added a slight hint of praise." And on the conversation went, discussing the months passed.

They sat there, talking, until Tãlan's mind was filled with the penetration of anothers consciousness. Sending up a wall, which was quickly fallen, Tãlan was scolded by his father's words. Then given news. An Elf, Eron, had survived, and now had set out on a journey to reach the Palace.

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Thanks for reading, I want honest Reviews. Even if you have no preference, this is a neutral story for you, still Review.

Also look for: "An Amazing Adventure With Jon Spiro."

~ Kalen Bloodstone ~


	3. Eron

Eron . . .

Eron, sat, emitting magic that only ancients could emit. His hair, silver patched with gray, swept down his pale face. He murmured a chant, inaudible. His eyes, piercing opals deep within their sockets, where maddened, and his attitude in general was insane.

He had arrived the previous day, muttering gibberish and being led by his daughter, an equally strange girl. Only she was strange for her eyes, opal as well, yet tinged with burble and speaking the true fear within. She was scarred, no doubt for life. She must have been scarred from worrying over him, then finding him insane, she herself had slowly turned the same. Her hair, silver, glistening in the sun, was wrapped into a long braid, which reached to her waist.

The council, wanted his witness account of the events, but he was uncooperative, anybody who went through what he had would do the same . . . to a point.

So here they sat, Eron and Tãlan, along with his daughter Ire. Nectar, swam in the jug which was placed on their table, along with the sautéed mushrooms and zucchini, which sat right next to the fresh loaf of bread. All sautéed in oil, and topped with a thin layer of spices and cheese to not overload the little flavor within the bland vegetables.

The aroma, enticing, expressed itself through the sense of smell throughout the room.

The room was in the private courtiers of Ire and her father. The tablecloth, white background with a green Ivy pattern embroidered into it, was an elegant touch to the room. A fireplace, roared with heat, embers slowly dying while the fire was quenched occasionally by a servant. Their table, rested in an impression in the middle of the oval room. At the far side, an oaken Wardrobe; the elegantly carved patterns where even more impressive with the dark finish. A four poster bed, cherry wood, with gold leafing, was almost directly across from the Wardrobe. To the side of the bed, sat a wash basin and jug, upon a nightstand. On his wall, there were mounted weapons. Among other things, it was mainly populated by an assortment of Rapiers, Swords, Mauls, Spears, and Staves, all in their own cases. Engraved into the cases, again cherry wood, where the names of their owner's. All within Eron and Ire's family line. There was also a small mural, which actually wasn't that small. It covered the whole door which lead to toilet and the bigger wash basin.

Tãlan, speared his final mushroom, the zucchini already extinct on his plait, and bringing the last bit of his bread to soak up the juices and oil, ate them both in a single bite, and sat back in his chair, ready to try and inquire again.

"Now, Eron, why is it you won't obey your Prince?" It was a cruel tactic that Tãlan hated to execute, but the elf opposite him had held his line while Tãlan's metaphorical army charged his ranks. Up until now, if all went well.

"It is in no way that I want to defy you, it is only that I feel it is not crucial to talk on the subject. Its changed me, you know, I'm sure you've noticed Tãlan."

Pondering the sentence, Tãlan sipped at his nectar.

"You do know this _is_ crucial, and that all Elves may die without the necessary information _you _may posses."

"Before you try another tactic, let me tell you something. We'll die anyway . . . They breath fire for god's sakes, and have talons the size of the average dirk. They cannot be defeated. Doesn't History say we did, but here they are. Back again to pillage us as they did to our ancestor's."

"But our Ancestors defeated them," Tãlan demanded.

"Yes, Yes. But do we have any translated documents of theirs? My point exactly. We have no idea in the world _how_ they where defeated."

"We can create new plans with our new developments since then . . . You are condemning your race if you don't tell us."

"I'm mad, boy, do you think I care . . ." his raged voice rung through the room.

"If I must, Eron, I'll search your memories . . . You know I can break your barriers."

"Try, I'd like to see it, I'm not going to let you just boss me around just to get some truly horrific memories." He spit out the words in distaste.

And with that, Tãlan probed his mind to Eron's, to be met with a scaling wall, no way in, as well as the pain that followed. He defended himself well enough, but advancing, breaking into Eron's barrier was much harder then he had anticipated. It seamed endless, with no faults, even worse was the barriers themselves. They where dark shadows. They weren't the usual granite or opal or elm, which were taught to every Elf in their early childhood. Then again, Eron wasn't the usual Elf.

Pressing with renewed vigor, of having found a crack, Tãlan surged forward. It was a trap, if there was wall traps. Tãlan was pulled into the shadows, and knowing dark magic resided within, he knew he must admit defeat, or be consumed.

Retreating, Tãlan opened his eyes once more to find himself looking up at Ire, who had tossed a wet towel over his head.

"You almost left us, Prince. Pardon my father, he knows naught who he challenges. He's mad, really, insane," she giggled, her opal eyes mixing with the burble. "I think I'm a bit mad too." She admitted with glee.

Outraged, Tãlan threw the towel back to her, forcefully. She was rocked by another fit of giggles. If the Elves had known of Hyenas at this time in their history, now is when they'd refer to the pair as such. Storming out, Tãlan, cross with himself for not breaking the barrier and almost being killed. He summoned the Guards, telling them to get out the information form Eron, _forcefully_.

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"We can't break him, Majesty. He's defeated two of my men already, and driven them insane," Reported Lord Rowl, the elf in charge of the Prison system.

His Majesty, sat on his throne, taking in the information. It had been two days since it had been reported that his son was mentally attacked by Eron. He had known they wouldn't have success; Eron had nearly driven Tãlan insane, he couldn't really expect others to do much better.

"So be it, I myself will try."

Eyes of the council peered out at him, from under their ceremonial robes and hoods of black silk. One stood, throwing back their hood, silver hair now flowing over her shoulders.

"Majesty, I fear for your health already, don't endanger yourself upon this minor vendetta," she pleaded. U'wen, was the director of Spies. Her tasks involved getting agents into many of the different races. Among the Groths, which were the hardest to disguise, mainly because they were undisguisable. U'wen had to convert them personally, it was her greatest achievement. Anyway, after the Groths, there were Brylls, Zavians, and the Fenskyll.

The Brylls, closely related to Goblins and Ogres, very close looking, only they're Mercenaries. They also, unfortunately, knew how to use magic, unlike Goblins. Zavians are shifters, you think it, they can morph into it. Great spies, too good even. Have that natural fighting ability. They are mortal enemies with the Groths, and often release skirmishes upon them, even though they posses no magic. Then come the Elves greatest ally, the Fenskyll. Blue skinned, unnaturally shiny, and very muscular. Summed up their appearance, but not their skill. They have great intellectual minds, their technology is much more advanced then anyone else's within Alagaësia.

"I appreciate you concern, U'wen, but it must be done. We must know what happened."

"But is it really this important? It was a battle with fire and talon, do we really need to know?" she pleaded, trying to reason with the King.

Without waiting for another sentence, Beorn exited the throne room to prepare.

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To the Kings left, was a bowl, filled to the brim with gemstones and rubies. Each stone was filled to the maximum with magic, saved up from the King over his Journeys.

Eron was opposite him, bound with chains as well as magic, his face carried a solemn expression, his eyes still alight with a maddened aura.

The King wasn't sure he would need the reservoir of magic, they were precautionary.

The Kings eyes, showed the distaste for the elf opposite him as well as their color, brown tinged with gray at the edges. His clothes were normal. They were no longer his throne room getup, now they were his comfortable clothes. A tunic, bare of ornamentation, black, which was the same color of the breeches, which adorned his long running legs. A fiery red cape, swoon down his back, clasped at the top with a jeweled broach. His sword, clasped at his side in it sheath, thirsting for blood it hadn't indulged in for over a year. He walked to his seat, confident and alert, ready for whatever he might experience within Eron's mind.

A cold drift swam through the vast underchamber that was the Prison cell. The stone, cold beneath ones feat, were rarely stained with blood. An eerie silence normally hung within the Prison, most Elves where Lawful and tidy, there weren't man occupants of the cells. There were a handful of guards at best, normally at least; they had been doubled for the Kings arrival.

The King sat, his agitated eyes boring into Eron, looking for faults; he found close to none.

Eron was of slight build, but he still had that look in his eyes, the one were he told you he would win. The look was soon accompanied by his agile features, if you were fast, you didn't have to be that strong. You could dance out of the way of an enemy, though how it had lasted for Eron was a marvel for the King. His nose, wasn't broken, strange. That or it had been reset very well.

Beorn sighed, and without a word, probed into Eron's mind, and was met with a shadow barrier.

Deep, frothing, swirling, and impossibly black . . .

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Sorry if there's to much detail, I wanted to get everything across correctly. What are you waiting for, Christopher Paolini to write you, telling you to review me? Review already, its taken him this long to not write the next book, you'll be waiting a week for the paragraph within the letter . . .

~ Kalen Bloodstone ~


	4. Unprepared

_**Chapter 4**_

_**~ Unprepared ~**_

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Tãlan, ran his fingers through his hair restlessly; stressed out with what lay before him. He sat on a sturdy chair, of dark cherry wood; carved to feature the legs of a falcons, in the adjoining suites of his parents. He gazed once more upon his Fathers face; pale, with sweat running down his weathered, griefed face.

Beorns fever had finally broken, the night before. Medmages and healers had run in and out of the room as fast as lightning; bringing their supplies of herbs and salves, as well as their own magic. Even with all of their magic combined, and their herbs and salves, it had taken Beorn five days to break his fever; for the reason that the disease was unknown, and incurable.

All of this was the doing of Eron; for only he had seen the King in the last moments of his conscious life. Now bedridden; unresponsive and staring into space, the King could no longer rule his Kingdom.

And through all of this, the Queen had still not recovered. After her vision, she had just gone blank gazed, staring into space, exactly the same as her husband and King. She was stretched out across her bed; her maidens surrounding the bed; waiting for her response. It had been three hard, long days before they had accepted the basket filled with salad and bread from the servants. A pail of water, was placed at her bedside; and every few hours or so, the maidens wet a fresh clothe and placed it on her forehead, for all the good it would do.

Through all of this, the Council was long awaiting a response to their inquiry; when will the new King step forward? And what of his Queen? Not even Jor'len, the Kings old Aid, who had been rehired by Tãlan, knew naught what to do to solve the Councils endless bickering and summons.

Reona, at Tãlan's side through this all; had been added to the Council as an honorary member, and held little power or influence within the Council. As of now, Reona was helping patch up things at court; a Kings duty. She knew her time to become Queen was closing in on her, and the duties of a Queen often came in close context with the Kings.

Now, rumors littered the palace, as well as the Kingdom; most of them true. The main of them being the King and Queens untimely illnesses; closely followed by the reluctance of the Prince and his Lover to anoint themselves rulers of the Kingdom.

What else could bring more havoc to the life of Prince Tãlan, then that of the Dragons on their doorstep. They were definitely unfriendly, according to the Towns-people. The Kingdoms reserve of soldiers had been brought into effect; and had gone through a thorough examination of skills which should've been kept in check, yet had been placed into the station of an afterthought.

As well as the reserve being placed into effect, the army's recruitment's office budget had doubled and new officials picked to go to and fro to find willing Elves of the realm to support their Kingdom. Mother's and children included, the Army Corporals had been instructed to teach the Towns-people in the fine art of the bow; and had also been instructed to help fine tune the magic abilities possessed within the people.

The Cartah, had been given their final orders; to help fortify existing Settlements or sent to the front line to fortify fortresses. The recently started encampments, had been abandoned, and company issue tents had been sent to well standing Settlements before the settlers knew they were to move. They would be escorted by a selected group of the Cartah.

A merchanting contract, one of the Kingdoms most helpful, had fallen through; the result of the angry Dwarf who ran the business. He held a deal with the King, and him only, and until he showed up at his own front door, he was fit to stay as he was in their standings.

A Fenskyll Ambassador, by the name of Dykyr, had visited the palace; for the main reason of finding if their treaty still held, and to sum up the new King and Queen. Dykyr had been received poorly; the Kingdom had taken a wild punch to the gut, with no warning, and their spirits held littler emotion or feeling for pleasantries.

Dykyr had just left the hour before, and Tãlan ran through the events which had happened, finally getting the time to realize them.

Reona, wearing a judgment robe; entered. Her hair, coal black, ran down her face in curls, reaching just below her shoulders. Pulling her robe over her head, and throwing the robe to the corner of the room; revealing the clothes beneath, Reona stepped toward her Lover.

A burgundy bodice; with a V neck, and trousers of the flare style verity. A dagger, strapped to one of her three belts; which hung at an angel at her waist.

"Another robbery on the road." Reona's clear voice rang through the room, awaking the man who as at my Fathers side incase he woke. Crime had increased in the Kingdom, with the havoc already ruling most citizens hearts, Bandits where added to their worries.

"Ket again?" Tãlan asked, tiredly.

"No- Gylo."

"Ahh . . ." An awkward silence filled the room.

"I better leave," spoke the Elf at the bedside, scurrying out of the door.

"Well?" Tãlan finally asked.

"Well what?" huffed Reona.

"Well why are you here?"

"I don't know, perhaps because we're to be Husband and Wife. And also perhaps to discuss what the Council was mentioning earlier yesterday."

Tãlan, inwardly sighed; knowing if he had done so aloud he'd be chastised.

"Fine- let's talk about it. I'll let you start . . ."

"Well . . . for starters- what will happen if your parents don't regain consciousness? What then?"

Tãlan contemplated for a minute. The silence crowding the room with awkward origins was not lessened by the silence.

"I'll become King, and you my Queen."

"Why don't you just announce it now; the Council we'll leave us alone long enough for you to air out your head. Jor'len can't hold them at bay forever."

"I'll be disgracing my parents; they trust me. If I announce myself Ruler of the Kingdom, it would be a slap in their face; a slap of loss of faith in their recovery."

"What if they don't recover; imagine it in the present. Would they approve of the way your running their Kingdom? With no ruler, these people have no faith in their Royals."

"I don't know, Reona- okay? Happy . . . I don't even know what to do about Eron." A grimace spread his face, filled with vile at the edges.

"I'm not happy, if that answers your question." Reona replied solemnly.

"If we are to marry," started Tãlan, "this is not the way to start it. We have these awkward silences more often then naught."

Reona slowly nodded.

"What can we do about this?"

"Stop fighting? I don't know. It doesn't help with all the stress on our shoulders."

"I have faith with us; but we have to handle these struggles together. Lets divide tomorrows schedule."

"Fine . . ." Reona answered after a moment of hesitation. Walking to the door, she shouted: "Scribe!"

A moment later, an Elf, clad in a dark blue shift and velvet slippers, rushed into the room; her destination being the scribes table to the side of the room.

The next hour was spent in deep discussion; the tasks divided, both Tãlan and Reona bid each other good night and headed to their rooms for a nights rest.

* * *

Dawn arrived, and was nearly gone when the first dispatch reached the palace. Scores of Brylls, with Groths in toe; where held at the south-western Border. As if Tãlan did not already have a war to fight; he now had two. Casualties still low, thankfully, but that did not subside the fear which Tãlan possessed, a fear for his Kingdom.

He had just announced to his people, of his choice to rule during his parent's absence from the court, and had stepped from the podium; when the courier approached King Tãlan.

Receding to his chambers, Tãlan went straight to his bed; not caring what clothes he wore. Scurrying under the sheets, his place of comfort, Tãlan waited, in silence. It seemed as if an age had passed, an age of peace; filled with the unique innocence which had filled the realm. The innocence of Dragons, and of a death of their King.

Death?

He had not died, but he might as well have according to his subjects. Dread seeped through the new age; barren of the hope which had been wielded as a weapon, close to the hearts of each Villager, Guard, Peasant, and even Royal.

A sound, the creaking of the door, rung true within the chamber; and before the sound could cease, the pressure and warmth of a body was added to the bed.

Hot breath momentarily tickled Tãlan's neck, but before he could mention the discomfort, or shift, Reona's voice pressed itself to his ear, the breath warm and itching his ear.

"We'll get through this . . ." was her only sentence, a sentence that may not have been true.

* * *

Unprepared to Review? Unlikely. A computer in front of you, and you know you want to press that glowing violet button beneath . . .

Some constructive criticism for a change may be nice (Hazelcloud), not that I don't like all the nice words, but I'd like to know how to better myself. If you have a friend whose good with catching things, an intuitive eye, or even another friend; send em' over for a review. The more the merrier!

_Just in, coming to _, _a long awaited mini-series ._ . . A Valentines Day Special, Brazil: A Valentines Day special mini-series, Minerva/Artemis shipping. ~ Rated: T, for shipping ~ _Coming to February 14th_, _tell your friends _. . .

~ Kalen Bloodstone ~


	5. Earl Gr'llisa

**Chapter 5**

**_Earl Gr'llisa_**

**_

* * *

~ _**Happy Presedents Day! ~

* * *

Tãlan and Reona rode back to base camp, taking their helmets of and cradling them in their shoulders as their dampened hair dried in the breeze. Behind them were two squads; each containing ten Elves as the usual. One commander, two corporals, and then seven men-at-arms. One under Tãlan command, and the other under Reona's command.

They had been flushing out Groth Commanders the whole week, and the Brylls which they encountered had been slain quickly and almost without effort. Their squad was hand-picked, the loyalist men who could keep their heads in a fight and protect their King and Queen.

Normally, there would be more then enough soldiers to fight, but with the Dragons as well, every able bodies Elf was given a sword and a cuirass at the least, most like they also gaining a mace, war hammer, or war axe, and some other pieces of armor normally being helmet. The men wealthy enough bought further weapons and armor, but the others where at the mercy of the King and whatever they could give them.

The squads base camp was located at the edge of a forest which was littered with overgrown long willowy trees and brambles; only a fool would attempt going through to spy. The brush on the forests bed only made the sound of their horse's hooves sound louder.

Their tents in view; simple pole and canvas tents, the men spread out to cover their patrol ground. After the area was deemed safe, the King and Queen rode all the way into the camp, wary of their sounds.

"Karah will be taking his shift with three others, Lokin's and his friends," reported Commander Viladi, with Commander Zera at his side. Zera was of average height, but at average height, she towered Viladi by a few precious inches.

"After their shift is over," reported Zera, "Another four will take their places; this will happen every four hours."

As the usual rotation time. Tãlan dismounted and took Reona's hand before she stepped down from her own mount, a Friesian which matched his own horse's breed.

Crossing ground to their tent, larger then the others by a few feet, Tãlan took his bedrolls from the side of the tent and unrolled it; doing the same for Reona, Tãlan lay down.

Tãlan would never admit it to his men, but he was homesick. He wanted to take a nice warm bath in his chambers, where after he could get a simple cup of tea to wash away the day and its memories. Here though, Tãlan needed to be strong. If he couldn't do it, he'd hardly force another to do it as well.

Tãlan was just happy that Reona accepted his request. She was a fierce warrior by her bloodline, stretching back to who knows when; she had only asked "When do we depart?"

Seeing her in battle was different then the training courts; Tãlan couldn't place his finger on it, but he knew there was something there.

At that moment, Reona slipped into the tent, wearing her field clothes; broad tunic and loose trousers, with a belt around the waist were a dagger forever rested in its sheaths. Her shoes made hardly any noise as she inched over to her bedroll, her armor and sword weighing down her arms.

Tãlan would've helped, but he learned at the start of their relationship to not help her with her gear; she could handle it.

Throwing them down in a huge pile, Reona raised her head to meet Tãlan's.

"Can I have the oil, please. And the wetstone." Always the warrior, she would first see to her equipment.

"Of course," he answered, lugging them out of his back. Tãlan as well, started to clean his armor as he lugged it into the tent after leaving for a moment.

"We've been here a week, and we still don't know where the Warlord is," commented Reona, as she wiped her armor with a damp clothe to work on getting the grim away.

"I know," answered Tãlan, "it's infuriating." Passing his blade through his routine with the wetstone, Tãlan eyed the edge; then tested it's sharpness on his finger, running it horizontal against the skin. Unsatisfied, he once again went about sharpening his sword.

"A shame, really. I thought our little group would find him by now."

Their group was small; but it was the only way to get around the countryside and to the center of the enemy unnoticed. And even with few numbers, they still found plenty of Groths and Brylls to fight.

"Me too," said Tãlan distracted, checking his blade once more. "It's so confusing; all of our information leads us to this area. Yet we haven't spotted more then a skirmish the whole week. Not even an army passing through."

"We should just ask Bianca to change shape and scout ahead of us," Reona recommended, mentioning the only Zavian under their command while she ran an oiled cloth around the grooves of her cuirass.

"No, we all need to stay together. If she gets captured by a Groth, she might talk. Now, I'm not questioning her loyalty; I'm not the only one who knows the Groth's preference in torture," Tãlan said, slipping his blade into its freshly oiled sheath. After setting it aside, Tãlan went about cleaning his cuirass as Reona finished her helmet polishing; switching, the pair went on.

"Well, if you ask me," Reona said, momentarily stopping her swords path on the wetstone; "we should just use our magic, and run for the hills. I'm tired of all this waiting; I need some action."

"That wasn't enough; the two skirmishes today and the one previous. That wasn't enough _action_ for you," Tãlan stopped momentarily as well, fascinated.

"Well its all very well for you, you don't have it running through your veins. They named me Reona for gods sake. And it wasn't like I wasn't holding a sword at the earliest age; I was bred to fight," she said, returning to her work.

"I guess I wouldn't mind leaving sooner then we expected," proposed Tãlan sluggishly, "and anyway, I'm sure Jor'len would love for me to return."

Jor'len, in the King's absence, had taken over the role of a King, without the title. The gray-haired man had first protested, but after hearing the importance of what Tãlan was planning, gave in.

"Alright, I'll go to Viladi and Zera, we'll finalize plans to wrap this up. Tomorrow, we'll set the plan into play and we'll be back at the Palace within the week. Sound good?"

"Immensely, darling. Now leave, I've a sword to sharpen," she said, ushering Tãlan out with a wave of her hand.

* * *

The planning done, the rations divided once more, and the horses fed and watered, the two squads and their commanders set out at dawn. A short ride to the west would take them to the Tower of Earl Gr'llisa, and from there they'd set another destination after the information to be gained by the Earl.

Setting a medium pacing, Tãlan spread his men into three colums, as did Reona. Reona led Zera's group, and Tãlan led Viladi's. The Commanders at their side, Tãlan and Reona set rode for a good hour before stopping in a Valley. Gathering his men, Tãlan explained his plan.

"We'll be taking this Tower by force; no surrender. We want to get in and out as fast as possible, and after we leave we don't want to be chased. We have leverage on our side; Groth's are used to the wide open sky- they'll be in confined courtiers. That's a plus for us- still though, be on your guard. I don't have to tell you of their kindness for strangers. Simple plan, kill all but Earl Gr'llisa; once we're through, your all one step closer to your families. Beyond this Valley by half a mile lies the Tower, keep up your defensive spells and get through this all in one piece. March!" And off they rode, to the Tower of the Earl.

* * *

. . . They were sighted; arrows slithered into the sky directed at their quarry, hissing through the air. Black shapes lifted to the sky, more arrows rained down from above.

A shriek of pain; no looking back- forward now, only forward. A word spoken, a door shattered; they were in. Spears flanked the stairs in a phalanx, and as one the black creatures rushed; all sense abandoning them.

Four dead with arrows, the first to fall in their phalanx; another quickly fell to a spell, and another soon joined his kind. Dismounted, twelve rushed to meet them, head on; broadswords in hand. One dead – eleven alive, the other nine followed.

Two led the way, determination fueling their steps. One sighted a creature, and in a flash of red mist, the creature lay still upon the ground; dead. Another, curving the way of the Tower, spear spread it's length to intercept a fair Elf; to only be shattered and a knife to be slashed across his throat in a spray of blood, boiling to the touch.

A chamber, a main chamber was sighted; only for a short time did they gaze at their surroundings. Out from nowhere sprung a feathered black creature, tongue hanging at it's longest as if the Demon had sprung from otherworld itself. Balanced knives were laced into compartments, for all the good it did the Assassin; in a swing of steel it was down- no longer a threat.

Another cry of pain, forgotten in the torment and confusion, an ally stooped to the floor with a gash in his side; under his ribs protruded a black hilt. Left to lay there, the rest followed the way up the stairs.

The rest was forgotten, all was confusion as they climbed the staircase up the high Tower. Who they killed, they'd never mention; their orders were orders.

Another door, another word, another splintering sound; and yet another shriek lost in a throat. Away from the door he fell, an arrow impaled in his heart; another arrow flooded the hall. Blocked, they binded the black creature with a crown of silver on it's crest.

The two leaders, their minds combined shred the memory from the creature, and in a show of mercy he was killed fast; unlike one of the three dead soldiers . . .

Tãlan straightened in his bedroll, shivering; a nightmare, a memory of that morning- the first of many to come.

* * *

Reviews loved, constructive criticism coveted.

(Previously Aiden Fletcher)

~ Kalen Bloodstone ~


	6. The Currier of Assassins

**Chapter 6**

**_~ The Currier of Assassins ~_**

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_**

Choosing their campground just as the sun set, a tinge of light from the moons and stars lighting their path from overhead, Tãlan ordered his Elves to make camp and organize a shift of guards.

Setting up his tent almost as if it were part of him, with Reona to helping, Tãlan quickly had a makeshift home. He rolled his eyes as he once again noticed a rip in his tent- it could wait no longer.

After grabbing his bone needle from its compartment in his pack, and the sinew thread which was relatively close to the needle, Tãlan quickly ran a few stitches into the canvas.

His hands passed over the fabric- hovering momentarily before they moved to the next stitching.

Gazing around the camp, Tãlan noticed similar work being done- good, he wasn't the only lazy one in the group.

Feeling hunger overcome his fatigue, the young King set course for the supply cart. A Chariot like contraption, loaded down with healthy green vegetables and their stores of grains and flour for bread making. No delicacies here, or sautéed- or for that matter cheese slathered vegetables, but they did the job.

Silently taking a few vegetables and a hunk of bread, the King shrunk back to his tent; intent on his meal and some sleep for the next morning.

Tomorrow was hopefully going to be a heavy day. From the Earl, they had gained information on the where-abouts of many of the leaders of the enemy- Generals, tutors, weapons masters; basically anyone of importance. Tãlan hoped that he would find the General he was pursuing easily enough.

From the reports he was hearing, his men were keeping the enemy- the main army, at bay. Yet Tãlan did not know for how long his Elves could hold them _and_ the Dragons.

The Dragons, had somehow unified as one; together, their numbers strong and merciless, they were slowly gaining ground. They had somehow become organized- they could communicate with each other. They knew tactics and they knew major places to place their blows.

Tãlan rubbed his eye unconsciously, as he unrolled his sleeping roll. Two more eye rubs passed before he finally settled into his roll; at peace with a dreamy look on his face as he accepted a day well executed- quite literally.

* * *

Reona was torn- Tãlan looked so peaceful. She didn't want to wake him, but she knew it had to be done. With a slight shove, her deed was done.

Rolling over, groggily, Tãlan looking up at her; eyes confused and filled with the sleep he'd inhabited the moment before.

"Babe," she started, "someone's here."

Slowly, Tãlan got out of his sleeping roll- to be met with the nights murky coldness. Grabbing a scuffed woolen vest, he exited his pole tent with Reona leading.

She, herself had felt the nights cold hand, and had dawned a thick woolen shawl.

The camp was still asleep as the pair crossed through the labyrinth which was the miss-orderly placed tents. Each seamed to mix with the other. Each was marked with the Realms insignia.

Tãlan looked up; two people sat at the edge of the camp on horseback. One was clothed in thick furs- a man. The other was an Elf; the way he sat was enough to tell the King of him- he was clothed in wool trousers and a shawl. Their mounts looked sturdy, and looked like they could handle the mountain terrain which surrounding the area.

The human was muscular- a helm of rams horns rested upon his crown. His clothing, as Tãlan came closer, became more evident and explaining of the individual who wore them. A Barbarian Chieftain.

His hair was put in their usual fashion- braids. They reached pasted his shoulders as they freely grew. Braided horse hair was suspended from his clothing. Each tuft was died a different color- each represented a different feat.

Tãlan counted over a dozen.

The horseman dismounted, and the Elf soon followed the Berserker.

The Elf wore an elegant, crisp, white uniform under the wool shawl. The uniform of the Realms Curriers. At his waist the hilt of a dirk protruded, but he possessed no other weapon. The Berserker, however, was armed to his teeth.

A large bladed battleaxe was rested on the ground; half a dozen throwing knives were shown- though doubtlessly there were more. A Berserker was always armed, in more then one way.

"King Tãlan, greetings," announced the surprisingly high voiced individual. He bent down to one knee as he said such, his gaze falling on the King's boots.

"Stand," commanded Tãlan, "No need for formalities . . ."

"Rafr Skyhull, at your majesties service," replied the man.

"What is the reason for my waking?"

"That," started the Reona, "is a good question."

After a moment of thought, the currier stepped into the conversation.

"King, I've brought this man to you for few reasons- though they are worth bringing them in person. This man," the currier said, gesturing to Skyhull, "is here to swear his clan to your command." Then the currier hesitated for a moment, as if he thought better of something he said.

"Though what is of greater importance is within this pouch." Reaching into a pouch at his waist, the Elf withdrew a letter- sealed with Jor'len's ring. Handing it to the King, he waited in solemn silence for an answer.

Tãlan, read over the report. He red over it again, and yet once more before he frustratedly thrust the pages into Reona's grasp.

Her face instantly darkened as her eyes lost their usual playful fury. They were now full-blown fury.

"Are you certain?" she asked the currier. He nodded sadly.

"How could they . . ." her voice broke off.

"Destroy the Towns of Errial, K'ree, and Port Renn," finished Tãlan for her.

Reona nodded.

"And the Alres family?" her eyes pleaded their hope- but hope only lasted long enough.

"Only one left . . ." delivered the Currier, though given the choice, he'd sooner be killed by a Dragon then be here this moment to deliver the information.

Reona's reaction was quick and harsh- she twirled around in her place, and ran to her horse. She saddled the horse so quickly that they could not persuade her of anything.

They tried to follow her through the labyrinth of tents, but they couldn't see more then a fleeting lock of her hair as they rounded each turn. They finally saw her, but as a spec in the dawns early light. Time had flown as they had looked for her, but to no avail. It would've been easier to tell a beaver not to cut down a tree. Against nature.

"Stop- call the men. We leave for home," Tãlan said. "Leave her to her silent ride, we'll catch up with her eventually. Don't worry about her, she's a fighter fueled on her family blood- blood recently spilled. The only stop to this side of her is what she wants- found that out the hard way. You know, the first time . . ." yet the King was preaching to air- the Berserker had left to tend his horse as the currier left to wake the Elves from their slumber.

* * *

Tãlan had just finished writing his letter as Commanders Viladi and Zera entered his tent. Melting down the wax in silence, the threesome did not speak.

"Here are the Assassin's orders," announced Tãlan from his makeshift chair and table. An overturned crate and another two piled upon each other.

"The men are ready to depart, sire," voiced Zera- the first of the two to speak.

"Yes, yes," stated Viladi as he took the Kling's letter, the wax seal still boiling. Blowing on the seal, he exited to bring it to the currier. Zera stayed.

"May I speak openly, sire."

"I actually advise it, of my council."

"We must leave now, if Reona- Queen Reona is overtaken, overpowered, anything. Killed, ransomed, it could be a huge debt to the Kingdom."

"I know," calmly replied Tãlan, "thank you for your concern, Commander Zera- and your opinion is voiced, but she will be fine. She's adrenaline crazed at the moment, eventually she'll backtrack to us. She'll know to come back."

"I hope so, sire." And with that, Zera left the room.

Tãlan stayed a moment more before packing his things. The assassins had to work, they _had_ to. He couldn't bring a team out once more, not a month past the day the war was ragged. The assassins would have to take down the Generals and such- Tãlan needed to fortify the capital, the Dragons would eventually reach it. It was inevitable.

* * *

Must I come up with another witty line telling you to give a Review- I bet so. Alright, another shot; Rveiew if you can raed tihs - Hpiopcpumas.

~ Kalen Bloodstone ~


	7. Reona's Ride

**Chapter 7**

**_~ Reona's Ride ~_**

**

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~ **This is up a few hours late, a site error wouldn't let me work on it. Thought you liked Reona? Well meet Kόpa, her younger sister. ~

* * *

Mile after mile, Reona thoughtlessly sailed through enemy territory.

As Tãlan followed her trail, an easy trail littered with gruesome bodies of the Bryll verity, he started to worry.

What if she never came out of this stupor? What if she never came back?

The wind snapped at the Elves faces as they rode, and paling clouds formed overhead. A Slight drizzle was their only warning- the heavens opened up.

Drenched without their oil-skins, the small army led its way through the rocky terrain- when their mounts tired, the Elves dropped from their saddles to give them a break. They ran as fast as panthers, sleek and deadly through the pouring rain.

Tãlan finally noticed signs of Reona's hesitance- a smoking fire rested a few paces from their mountain trail. She had stopped, hopefully to eat, and than had headed on her way.

Tãlan dismounted, leaping out of his saddle sideways before his feet landed firmly on the ground. Walking over to the embers, he thrust a hand into the soggy mess- still warm after a few layers.

"Still warm," he voiced to his Elves, "we march ahead- faster."

Already maxed out, the Elves sighed heavily; and they were off once more.

Over more rocky terrain, the wind grabbing at their clothing, making way for the water to find more dry skin. Miserably, the Elves passed over and out of the mountain trail which their horses hooves had previously been march, and onto the padded grasses of foothills.

And with grass, came mud.

It stuck to the crevices between the horse's shoes as it slopped up from ground as the horse's splashed through the land.

* * *

Reona hesitated- she looked left, she looked right. Which way.

Home, or where home used to be?

Left, definitely left.

"Kaahhh!" she urged the horse forward, its white coat matted down with mud. Traveling through the foothills hadn't been any kinder to her then the army following her- _surly_ they were following her. She was their Queen. She'd let them catch up with her at their own accord. Right now, she needed distance to be eaten away.

The Palace was the place for her to go- that's where her little sister would've been sent. Kόpa, the youngest female elf alive, would be sent somewhere safe, somewhere she could not only feel safe, but be physically safe.

It was very true, the fact, the poem, the saying- whichever you may choose from; Elves treasured their young.

Reona quickly passed over the plateau, her horse's hooves kicking up the dirt as it took it's rider to her destination. Reona loved horses, their fearlessness never seamed to be taken away from the courageous beasts.

She often took her riding time to investigate their minds as she traveled- it absorbed time just as it gave her something.

There it was- the first sign of civilization. A stone dome reached high into the air- the temple. A walled in town, sentry posts set at intervals; Elven Archer's patrolled its walls as Reona surged forward with renewed vigor.

She was getting closer to her sister . . .

* * *

Kόpa, her head held high, took her scolding with respect and without shying away.

"Mistress Kόpa, you know better- tell me you won't do it again," her monstrous thing for a nanny said as she took Kόpa's wrist in a firm grasp.

"I," aired Kόpa, her voice lathered with distain, "did nothing."

The pair glared at each other for a moment- both trying to intimidate the other and gain the upper hand.

"Say you're sorry to his young lordship, or your sister will hear of this when she arrives . . ." threatened the nanny.

"He was a jerk- I'm not going to apologize. Anyway, he should've seen it coming, he's the prodigy after all, is he not?" she challenged back.

"Kόpa, apologize now!" It was an order, not a request.

"Tell him if he wants his dignity back, he can find it in the hamper," and with that, Kόpa skipped back into her room before the _thing_ which watched over her could do anything.

A knock quickly rapped out on the door.

"Go away, Cleary- I'm not coming out."

Silence.

The door shattered down- the worse part was Kόpa had suspected as much, and had been warding the door with her magic when it shattered into shards- her mind exploded in agony.

"Never," started Reona, "try to escape me again . . ."

"Ra, your back!" screamed the child in her delight as she surged forward.

"I am," she said as Kόpa hugged her sister in a fierce embrace. A moment of contented silence passed before the two escaped Cleary's further badgering in Reona's Chamber's.

They sat sideways on Reona's bed- topped with luxurious sheets which felt like the rawest silk compared to Reona's sleep roll. They each expressed a sigh of content before they continued their conversation.

"I heard most of it," commented Reona- the second oldest of her family of five children.

"Kyra deserved it!" Already on the defense.

"What did you do to him?" Reona, who really hadn't heard _all_ of the conversation asked.

"Well," Kόpa shyly started, "Kyra was being a jerk, as usual- so I decided to help the poor soul he was badgering." Seeing Reona's face still questioning, she elaborated. "I punched him, kicked him- you know, the usual brawl."

Reona's face looked like it could spit fire.

"You . . ." her face broke as it made way for a mischievous smile, "little sister."

The two bonded once more as they talked of the year in which they had been separated- then came the grievous news which Reona already knew of.

"Pa's dead- Ma too. And Leren, and Scar, even Korial- they're all dead Reona," silently confessed the girl as the room took a sudden change in mood.

"I know, Kό . . ." even more silently answered the elder sibling. The two rocked each other back and forth, balancing on the beds sheet covers.

They most likely would've stayed that way for eternity- grieving with each other and content with each-others presence, but Tãlan chose that time to enter.

He flushed into the room, leaves stuck in his hair and clothes muddied. He looked sweaty in his tunic and breeches.

"Reona," he uttered, than stopped as he recognized the child rocking in her arms.

"Kόpa," he greeted her warmly.

"Tãlan," she greeted with her weak voice. She had been crying, quite noticeable; Tãlan took a step back and sat down in a chair opposite the bed.

"Come sit," ushered Reona, but Kόpa squirmed in her place.

"I should leave, see you later Ra, I've a Lord to forgive."

Tãlan shot a questioning look at Reona, which was received and was given the silent response of _tell you later._

* * *

Refr Skyhall's men assembled at the Palace Garden, packs secured to their backs as they were given orders. Their Horse's were housed in the stables.

Tãlan filed them in two lines- facing inward.

Each man looked weathered and experienced- scars littered their skin, though not from carelessness but from their training and from their fighting experiences. Almost each of the eighty men had beards on their faces- they varied from social standings, but the main idea was to have a bristled point.

They wore furs, though in these climates they had lessened the layers of them. Each carried around three or more weapons, normally a broadaxe or longsword- again based on social standing.

Tãlan, Refr at his side, stood at the front of the line. He sized each man up and asked Refr about other factors- there were few, but placed well, they could hold. Berserkers from the North were notorious for their military rage, but they were scarce in these parts.

After assigning them places, Tãlan made haste to his drawing table. He wanted to have another fortified wall built outside of the two which already stood. He left plenty of space on the walkway for ballista's, and made sure there were enough perches for Archers. Then, he sent them to an architect for final consent.

A sudden thought hit him- they were Dragons, they flew. Walls would do nothing more then to provide perches for his Archers- he had to rethink the wall before he used his recourses of wood.

He finally decided to have platforms raised, with the Fenskylls mettle plaiting for the wood to be harder to burn. Then, he planned mettle walls with slits for windows in them- a foot long and five inched wide. So basically, a sentry tower with fortified walls was the main structure of his idea.

Tãlan stepped out of his room- not a moment passed before he saw the currier, and his heart paused.

"Another Town, my King . . ." the Elf said.

A moment passed- Tãlan's face was now average in a grimace.

"Which?"

"High Peak, your Majesty . . ."

Tãlan paused, than rushed down the hallway, intent on letting his Palace stand and not burnt to the ground.

* * *

Well, how did you like her? A nice addition to the Alres family, no?

~ Kalen Bloodstone ~


	8. Kόpa's Journey

**Chapter Eight **

**_~ Kόpa 's Journey ~_**

* * *

~ Hope this is satisfactory ~

* * *

Kόpa traveled from room to room; her nose guiding her to her meal. In the end, most things came down to her smell.

She picked the poison on the end of her dagger that way, by smelling the toxins. It was strapped to her belt now, as she headed to the Kitchen. Then, doubtlessly, she'd be led to the Gardens.

Most Elves her age had already acquired fields of work, whatever they may be, but Kόpa hadn't been able to decide. Once, she wanted to be a Chef- well that thought was soon overturned by being an Ambassador with the Humans – the smells which inhabited their world fascinated Kόpa – but yet again it changed. So much so, that three years into everyone else's apprenticeships, Kόpa was still standing on her head enjoying the wafting smells.

That day, Kόpa hadn't done much. She'd gotten ready, ran herself through her morning exercises, then had just wandered. With nothing to do, you'd have to feel sorry for her.

And yet yesterday evening hadn't turned out well, as the young Lordship Krya knew all to well- she had to be occupied.

Reona and Tãlan had been brainstorming, after Reona had told Tãlan, but the list was endless as well as limitless. There were few things Kόpa knew how to do, and even fewer which she liked.

At the top of the list, cooking, next came fighting, and then as last resort came smithing and smelting.

Tãlan was hit with a stroke of genius- so that morning had followed on her morning routine. This turned out to be not as much a routine as following seemingly seemless areas of surprisingly good smells.

Abruptly, Kόpa stopped. She turned around on her heels, staring incredulously at Tãlan.

Tãlan starred back.

"Why have you been following me?" Kόpa finally asked, her blonde – almost white – hair almost blinding in the glare of the sun.

"Well," started Tãlan, "Me and your sister are worried about you . . ."

"The King and Queen? Worried about little old me, with a war on their hands? Well I'll be damned, Jor'len was right," muttered the girl. She ruffled her hair restlessly, the chain bands around her wrists catching Tãlan's attention once more as the sun glared off the reflective surface.

He sighed. This was going to be rough.

"Kόpa, me and Reona have a little job for you – well in reality not small or little – but that's not the point. Reona and I want you to lead a few squads through some training courses. Nothing major, just bladework and spears – possibly staves – though I doubt it." His invitation, the Kings hand, was outstretched, metaphorically speaking; Kόpa could only choose her destiny.

A moment of silence.

"Alright, where do I go; where am I posted?" Kόpa said, though quite dramatically- like she was doing them a favor.

"You will be posted as Corporal until you show further progress, which I believe will be quite drastic soon, in Port Penn, Port Renn's cousin harbor. You've lived the Port life, you know the ins and outs of that life – I thought it rather suited you myself. You depart tomorrow." And with that news, that statement, history was in the making.

* * *

Kόpa ran through her roster as her brute of a horse raced through the roads which led to Port Penn. She had no followers, no bodyguards, no side-hands – she wanted to make an impression as she came to her new position.

She guided her brute with her knees as she turned sharply.

Sixty Elves. Sixty Elves under her supervision. Sixty Elves which would listen to the youngest female in the Kingdom- no older then the Humans equivalent of teenager.

She sighed. Another group she'd have to prove herself to. It wouldn't take long; perhaps a duel or two- nothing major. Hopefully, these ones weren't as bull-headed as the others.

It is true that Elves weren't discriminative, but they still found ways to make Kόpa feel stupid and faulty at times.

She shuffled in the saddle as another wind blasted through her overcoat. She repositioned her swords guard restlessly; she hated waiting.

Her nose caught a smell . . . It took all her will power not to follow it. She had a task now, and a major one at that.

* * *

Twelve days into construction, twelve sentry posts were raised. With a group of twenty Elves, plus one loud, quite small Elf to direct them, the group improving the Palace's defenses was well into their jobs.

At any moment they could be struck- with every new day came ever newer risk of being overridden with Dragons. Archers practiced as the Smithy used her reserves of magic to finish her work.

This was no longer their hobbies, this was their Kingdom- it needed to be done _now. _

From what he heard from Reona, Tãlan knew that Kόpa was whipping her crew into shape. According to her, the Barracks were untidy, unruly, and smelled atrocious. They needed stricter morning drills; the Elves had fallen into a routine of pass at your best. And then no more. They needed more discipline and poison as well, about three gallons more.

The arrows were starting to become overgrown with ivy with no one to practice with them- the towns second best defense against the Dragons was Archers; they needed practice. They needed more tar for the bottom of the hulls as well. Kόpa hadn't taken more then three steps on one of the vessels when she noticed it.

They also requested more nets, about a hundred of them. Kόpa had started to drill her Elves in throwing them. As long as you could tangle a Dragon up in them, they were practically goners. They needed less rusted armor, which now had to be maged with layers of magic against fire.

Everything needed a swift kick in the butt to get started again, otherwise those same butts would be on fire within the week.

Tãlan was pleased with the activity he had found for the youngster. She could do no harm there, with hardly any time left to get into trouble.

Tãlan had been requesting all of thee bodies of the Dragons be sent to him- he wanted to find faults. He found several. Kinks between scales, the mouth, the foot wasn't padded enough against a spears point. He also wished to do experiments with ailments and allergens, but unfortunately, they were all dead.

Then, quite suddenly, a thought struck him. This often happened as he didn't take everything into account at the same time.

He was planning everything defensively- he had to change a few of his tactics to offense. His plans for treaties had broken through quite fastly. His Representatives couldn't find purchase to the Dragons minds. More diverse then the usual reptiles.

Quickly, Tãlan read through reports from the assassins. They had found almost everyone he had intended to kill. Only a few Generals had not been killed.

Fine, now he can direct them on other matters.

Quickly, he drew up a plan. The Assassins were to attack the Nests, in the deep of night, and slay all they came upon. They were not told that it was a likely a suicide mission, they didn't need to know. Assassins knew the risk.

Tãlan sighed. He tired of this quickly. The pressure was profound and unsatisfying.

Sighing once more, Tãlan sealed the new mission statements, and went to get them carried to their respective receivers.

* * *

Sorry this was shorter then usual. I'm having trouble finding ground for future chapters. I think I'll end it in two chapters. I don't think I can get much more out of it. I don't want to screw up the ending, so I may wait another week or so then normal to finish it. Not positive yet, but I don't want to screw up the ending.  
Same goes for my Artemis Fowl Series. Sorry for the trouble.

~ Kalen Bloodstone ~


	9. History Lesson

**Chapter 9**

**_~ History Lesson ~_**

* * *

~ Thank you all for viewing, reviewing, critiquing, and all the things people do here in general. ~

* * *

Journal Excerpt…

_It has been three months since I last visited these pages, filled with dreading news I should have forecasted. I was so naïve. I thought I…. could at least try… I can't explain it, not onto a page._

_You doubtlessly saw what was coming. Didn't you?_

_I've written many pages within you, my dear old friend. Enough! I must take control; I must stop feeling sorry for myself._

_But the lives, the deaths… so many deaths._

_Since my last entry, three months prior – for which I apologize – plenty has happened. I don't want to go into detail, for if you knew the horror which has become the Palace Gardens, you would hurl._

_The only thing you need to know at the present is they broke through our defenses—almost every city, town, village, and hamlet have been burned down, leaving few or no survivors. The news I want to tell you is that they are there, in the thousands._

_The last I wrote, you heard of Kόpa taking over Port Penn, Port Renn's neighborly harbor. She had ordered an extensive review of the military's goings on, and wanted everything spick-and-span before the dragons attacked. They had just finished tarring the ships when they attacked, with Kόpa on them. Try as she might, she couldn't escape the ship. And with her minimal magic training, she could hardly defend herself._

_The whole Port burnt down, down to the ground. Stone to stone and magic to magic, as they say. All hope was lost, with our youngest girl dead—until we found her, facedown in a river, trying to stay conscious as she clung to a few burnt planks._

_Her skin was massively burned, and even after numerous healings, her skin peeled away, leaving only a thin layer behind. Her hair was singed, and the remaining tufts were sheared off; she was clothed in the lighted moth-silk we were able to conjure. Conjure—an odd word to say, but none the worse to lead to the next story._

_Reona, of course, was in battle against the dragons. Everyone was. No exceptions. The odd part was, she had conjured skeletons, something far beyond the human mind, not to mention an elf's mind; though by the look of her, she had utterly changed._

_Her eyes has lost their usual hazel, and made way for crimson red. Her fingernails had lengthened, and her hair, previously silver, had become a dark gray._

_She had come to me the night before, claiming she had found a cure for us. She had found a way to channel our ancestor's power. She was right, we could. But it was inhumane, and a very grueling experience to channel them. I told her no, yet she defied me, and began a group of herself and six other hand-maidens, each with this new skill._

_They called themselves Shades, for reasons unknown to me. Maybe for the different spirits, which they swore gave off different hues for each emotion, of which they now read._

_I left her then, to judge her own fate. Cruel. That's what I am. Stupid. Rash. Fearless. Prideful. Criminal… _

_And so my Kingdom fell. Nomads are rumored to be traveling to our allies, the Fenskyll, is pursuit of a new life. Others—that is, the ones that remain—and myself have traveled across the vast sea, treading carefully, hoping not to be shipwrecked. The only person we know who was left behind was Rauthr, who cried a hysterical neigh as we drifted across the smooth waters, on our oaken silver ships, the only to survive. The only to survive Elves as well. Rumors are rumors, we had no way on knowing if our kin were alive somewhere father up the coast._

_I still don't know why Rauthr stayed behind, but something told me it was to find the Shades._

_Kόpa traveled with me, to our new homeland. So did Jor'len, and my father and mother, still in a comatose state. Commander Viladi came as well, among a handful of others. And here we are, in this wonderful place, not littered by any other civilization. Not at the moment, anyway. I've sent scouts into the land, for miles and miles, and each brings the same news, good news. The best news._

_Free of enemies, free of alliances, free to do whatever we want. I do not want to act harshly, though. An entire race rests upon my shoulders, and I must treat it with caution._

___Tomorrow I start building a palace, built within a forest that I have named Du ____Weldenvarden, in this land which I call Alagaësia. It shall be built from the very trees which inhabit this land, as we all sing our way through a new destiny._

* * *

"_Tomorrow I start building a palace, built within a forest that I have named Du Weldenvarden, in this land which I call Alagaësia. It shall be built from the very trees which inhabit this land, as we all sing our way through a new destiny," _recited Oromis.

Oromis stored the scrolls away, placing them onto a shelf. Turning around, he studied his young pupil—the youngest, even. She stared back attentively, her bright eyes locked on Oromis with a sort of shock.

Her hair was drawn in a ponytail, and her aura was strong—a born fighter, she would do anything to guard her Kingdom. Literally, _her_ Kingdom. Her name was Arya, Arya Drottningu—princess and heir to the Elven Throne.

She was dressed in simple, durable, breeches and a tunic. A pale blade rested on her hip; and a bow of her possession rested against the frame of the door, the string unstrung.

Oromis stared down at the four-foot tall Princess, waiting for the barrage of questions to spring from her mouth. To his slight dismay, there were hardly any in coming.

"So, my dear, what's your take on the predicament which found itself upon our race, millennia ago?" A slight smirk ranged his mouth, shadowed by his long white hair. He walked across the room, slowly, a slight limp in his left leg. Sitting down, he smoothed out the wrinkles in his embroidered red robe.

She returned his expression with a slight pout, before continuing.

"I believe we were stupid—we should have fled early on. Each time we resettle, the Dragons find us within a millennia. Your generation was the first successful colony, but before? Seven Nations have fallen at some point because of these Dragons, we know that by word of mouth—that scroll there is the only solid, proven, historically accurate document we have."

Settling her case, she waited for Oromis.

"No questions, dramatics; no hysterical outbursts of passion?"

"Only questions."

"Ask away," he replied with a smile.

"What happened to Reona?"

"That," he started, taking down his pipe and lighting it, "is a great question." He paused for a moment, puffing the pipe to get the tobacco lighted. Returning his attention to Arya, he looked directly at her and begun. Brom had obviously learned much from this man, at the very least his story-telling technique.

"We do not know. Eventually, Shades started showing up here; if they originated from Reona herself is unknown. They could have taken instruction from her handmaidens. They could have stumbled upon her Journal. We just can't be certain.'

"Great—another: why doesn't Mother go back, across the sea, to explore the land for friendly allies? They could help us gain the upper hand over the Dark King. We could double, thriple, quadruple our numbers, and crush his Empire."

Oromis smiled at her exuberance. "Triple, my dear," he corrected. "Not thriple." Taking a few silent puffs off his pipe, he took a moment to collect his thoughts. Ready, he continued…

"You must promise me, right here, in the ancient language, to not tell anyone. Only three-fourths of our Kingdom know the truth; find yourself fortune it to be given the knowledge."

"Must I?"

""Yes," Oromis boomed.

"But when I'm Queen, what then? Then can I go across the Sea for help?" she asked, eyes intent on Oromis's composure. This didn't seem a good subject for him.

"Just swear on it, Arya, and lets be done with our lesson."

Finally consenting, Arya spoke the words quickly, then jumped up and challenged her Master with ferocity.

"I accept, youngling!"

With a huff, they both made it across to the training fields, Arya with her pale blade, and Oromis with his firm quarterstaff.

As they went out of sight, the stag, an onlooker, backtracked. Hiding itself behind a tree, it changed its shape—from a stag to a peregrine falcon—then soared upward.

This particular Zave chuckled to herself, as she avoided a strong air gust—Bianca laughed again, soaring even higher, no longer worried with the rumors she had been sent to inspect—she could tell the Generals with truthfulness this time; they wouldn't hear from the Elves in a long, long, time.

* * *

Now, it is finished! I thank you all who reviewed, and the silent viewers for keeping me going. Though now that its finished, I ask them to review, and find a voice; aka, I'd like reviews *cheeky grin* anyway, yes, thank you all. You've kept me going till the end!

~ Kalen Bloodstone ~


	10. Character Cast

**CAST OF CHARACTERS**

* * *

~ After it being pointed out in a PM, I understood the confusion which might be going through your heads. 

Well, heres the character list, which will hopefully clear the fog. ~

* * *

Tãlan: The Prince of the Elven Kingdom, who must become King through the acts of his own. His love, his Queen, is Reona Alres.

Reona (REE-owe-na) Alres: Is the start of the Shades, the lover of Tãlan, the Queen of the Elven Kingdom, and packs a punch.

Beorn the Edoc'sil: Tãlan's father, the King before him, and enslaved into nothingness by Eron.

Draumr the Hljödhr: Tãlan's mother, the Queen before Reona, who is struck unconscious by her gift, Seer.

Oro: Lord Baron of a fiefdom in the Arovian Empire.

Jor'len (Jhore-lynn, french J): Is, one would say, the real King. The one who instructed Tãlan, when his father went mad.

Adurna: One of Tãlan's high generals, a true friend and guide, and a well equipped Knight; equipped for all but death, that is . . .

Jrean (Jrene, french J): Much the same to Adurna, only a different skin.

Rauthr: One of Tãlan's many friends.

Eron'yilsna: King Beorn's personal secretary.

Iana (EE-ah-na): Jrean's mate.

Eron (Aaron): A mad elf, who previously took orders from Tãlan, and now take orders for Hell's drive-through.

Ire: Eron's only heir, a magnificent female specimen.

Gylo & Ket: Bandits, who took advantage of the sudden attacks.

Dykyr (Decker): A Fenskyll Ambassador, sent to be sure of the alliance between the two nations.

Viladi (Vill-ah-dEE) & Zera: Commanders in Tãlan's battalion, sent to desecrate the Ghroth Generals.

Karah & Lokin's: Your poster-children for the army, these two know what to do when the Watch is set-up.

Bianca: A Zave in Tãlan's battalion, who is later revealed to be alive, hinting to the years the Zave's live.

Earl Gr'llisa (Gehr-liz-ah): An Earl in Ghroth civilization.

Refr Skyhull: A Nothern barbarian, who leads the wild men beneath him.

Kόpa (Kupa) Alres, Korial (Core-EE-el) Alres, Leren Alres, and Scar(rlet) Alres: Reona's family, who all died besides the youngest, who suffered many burns during the final days of the battle.

Lord Kyra: A spoiled brat, who was taught a rough lesson by the youngest Lady in the Kingdom.

* * *

RACE

* * *

Zave: The Shifter race

Fenskyll: Winged, technologically advanced, these blue skinned people will one day rule the world.

Ghroths: Black winged creatures, who look pleasant from afar . . . and with a handful of arrows sticking from their skull.

Bryll: The magically marveled species, who hate their nit-wit cousins, the Goblins. who gave them a bad rep.


End file.
